


Chase the Sun

by Phoenix_of_Athena



Series: Painted Wings [Kuroshitsuji Daemon AU] [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Daemons, Demons and Daemons, Especially in the Daemons, Family Dynamics, Sebastian Instills Primal Fear, Sebastian Michaelis is a Demon, Unhealthy Relationships, ish?, mangaverse, more like exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-21 01:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13730424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_of_Athena/pseuds/Phoenix_of_Athena
Summary: Kamalani didn’t talk anymore, and she no longer bounded about in the form of a large dog or a fox kit at Ciel’s side.  Instead, when Ciel came back his daemon had settled into the form of a raven, perched still and silent on his shoulder as her beady eyes tracked any and all movement around him.





	1. Lizzie and Eramun

Kamalani didn’t talk anymore, and she no longer bounded about in the form of a large dog or a fox kit at Ciel’s side.  Instead, when Ciel came back his daemon had settled into the form of a raven, perched still and silent on his shoulder as her beady eyes tracked any and all movement around him.  Kamalani also no longer sought out Lizzie’s Eramun, or flitted endlessly between him Noelani whenever she and the twins were together in one room.  Of course, many things had changed when Ciel came home alone.

The first night after seeing Ciel again after that long month, when Lizzie and Eramun had huddled down in their bedcovers, her daemon said, softly:

“There’s something different about Kamalani.  I mean…she and Ciel are alone now, and she’s settled, and I know that we don’t…we don’t know what happened to them, but something’s just…” her daemon growled in frustration, the lynx’s tufted ears flattening against his skull, “Something’s just different.”

“I know, Eramun,” Lizzie whispered, stroking her daemon’s spine as he relaxed into the form of a house cat and curled up under her chin, “everything is different.  But Ciel’s alone now.  All we can do is be there for him.” 

Eramun sighed into her shoulder.

“Still,” he said, “Something’s not right.”

 

They believed they figured it out when she went to give Ciel a surprise visit.  Lizzie had turned up completely unexpected (going by the manor’s unusual state of disorder) and Ciel’s daemon had been nowhere in sight.  Even as she threw her arms around her cousin’s skinny shoulders, his daemon didn’t reveal herself.  In fact, Kamalani had remained unseen for nearly the entire afternoon, and only when they were taking tea on the lawn did the reason become apparent: her cousin’s daemon came wheeling out of the sky, growing from a tiny black speck among the clouds into a huge raven that perched on the back of Ciel’s chair.  For a moment, Lizzie had stared, uncomprehending, but then her breath had caught in her throat and Eramun had shrunk against her side, a tiny mouse that skittered up into her sleeve.  Ciel acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

“I’m sure Nina wouldn’t mind coming by,” he said, continuing the vein of their conversation without so much as a glance at Kamalani as she settled behind him, “I can arrange for her to pay a visit next time you’re here, if you’d give me some warning before you show up.”  Ciel looked at her with a sigh, his chin propped on a darkly gloved hand.

“Oh—oh, yes,” she said, even as she bit back her sudden nausea, “Of course.  Say—say, these cakes are _very_ fine.”

“Obviously,” drawled Ciel, “They were made by Sebastian.”  

Looming at his back like a dark hood, Kamalani shifted, ducking her head and her ruffling feathers as he continued:

“One day I’ll find something that he absolutely cannot do; that will be the day that my household falls to ruin.”  He gave a little smirk, but behind him, his daemon stiffened, her feathers falling flat and smooth as her head turned unerringly towards the mansion.  Lizzie followed her gaze uneasily, and saw Sebastian himself.

“Speak of the devil,” Eramun whispered from where he’d nestled himself at her collar, still tiny and agile as a mouse.  Lizzie gave him a quick frown, before greeting the butler as he approached.

“Good afternoon, Sebastian,” she called, forcing cheer into her voice, “Did you really make these cakes?  Surely you must leave some work to the chef!”

The conversation continued, light and trivial, but she could still feel Eramun shivering at her throat with every glimpse of Kamalini through her hair.  Truthfully, Lizzie herself was not much better, but for Ciel’s sake—Ciel, who must be trying so very hard, and hurting so much—she could pretend.  It was only later, in the solitude of the carriage bound for home, that she allowed herself to cling to Eramun, her fingers fisting in the coarse hair of the wolf’s form that he had taken.  It was only then that she allowed herself to cry in chorus to her daemon’s mournful whines.

“It’s no wonder she doesn’t talk,” Eramun murmured as his large form leaned into her embrace, “I can’t even imagine, oh, oh, what must have _happened_.”

Lizzie gritted her teeth, clutched her daemon close, and declared:

“When I get home, I’m going to send him a letter; I’ll tell him I’m coming back this weekend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. So. I started thinking about a Kuroshitsuji Daemon AU, and I just couldn't stop. I think, with a manga that has souls as such a major plot element, that this is an incredibly fun concept to explore. Plus, y'know, daemons. The idea of them absolutely enchanted me in my childhood.  
> Um, also, before I get too far, I'll just throw out there that I haven't read His Dark Materials in literally ten years. So if there are any grievous errors, that'd be why.  
> (Also: titles. I hate thinking up titles)


	2. “Kamalani” and the Earl of Phantomhive

The boy called Ciel didn’t talk to his daemon much, anymore.  Not, that is, in the way that most people talk to their daemons.  He didn’t confide in her, or seek reassurance or a second opinion like he had as a young child.  He didn’t turn to her when he was alone and wanting desperately not to be.  And she no longer curled up under his chin as a rabbit while he slept, or when he was in need of comfort.  She hadn’t been able to do that since she had settled.

When the boy did talk to her, it was to assign tasks, or grant permission.

“Keep watch,” he would whisper to the shadow perched on his shoulder, and the raven daemon would launch herself into the sky, her dark eyes scanning the streets below her and keeping track of the boy as he walked beside the _demon_.

“I’m leaving,” she would croak softly into his ear, and he would incline his head and she would fling herself through an open window of the manor house.  Behind her, a door would crack softly open, and _he_ would step sedately into the room with the boy.  The raven daemon would streak farther and farther into the cold sky until the clouds misted at her wings.

“Kamalani,” he would say, when there were others in the room, “Well done,” and “Thank you.”  

“Kamalani,” he would call out, in the dark of his room late at night, “Stay, please, please, Kamalani!  Don’t go—!”  And the raven daemon would flutter down from the top of the wardrobe where she watched in silence, and hop close to him on the bedspread.  Cold, shaking fingers would latch onto her wings and feathers and hold too tight.  She would allow it.

 

Noelani, now called Kamalani by all but herself, had always been partial to soft creatures; forms to comfort and care and bolster confidence.  She was a rabbit, a puppy, a kitten that wound around legs and nuzzled cheeks.  She would dart and run, faster than Kamalani—the real Kamalani—by half and always, and receive smiles for it.  And then, later, when the children were trapped and weighed down, she and Kamalani were partial to the forms of birds.  Robins and blue jays and canaries; songbirds; birds with sturdy wings that could touch the sky, if only.  And the flight was still a craving, a need.  But Noelani, now called Kamalani by all but herself, was no longer a bird to lift up spirits.  That was fine; she couldn’t have done so if she’d wanted to.


	3. Francis and Asra

“I don’t like that Sebastian,” was the first thing Asra said when the door to the Phantomhive Manor shut behind them.  The huge, black panther daemon padded evenly at Francis’ side, not bothering to lower his voice.

“He makes me uneasy,” he continued darkly, “Did you see the way he watched us? Me, Eramun, Eimear, and Amista.  But especially Kamalani.  He tracked us constantly.”

For some reason, the thought sent a chill up Francis’ spine, and she looked down to meet her daemon’s bright amber eyes.

“I agree,” she said slowly, “but Ciel insists on depending on him.  I did notice, though, that Kamalani watches that butler just as closely.  When he’s in the room, she never looks elsewhere.”

Beside her, Asra’s dark fur caught a patch of sun, and she could see the darker black spots in his coat as his fur rippled over his shoulders.

“We’ll have to watch him just at closely,” the daemon growled, turning his large head to look at Edward and Elizabeth as her children walked ahead of them with Alexis. Lizzie’s Eramun fluttered about as a hummingbird above Edward’s Eimear, her son’s recently settled serval daemon tolerating the creature with good temper.

“We will,” she agreed, before Alexis’ gray Irish Wolfhound daemon trotted over to Asra’s other side.  She bumped their shoulders together and spoke loud enough for both woman and daemon to hear:

“Alexis wants to know if we can stop at a confectionery; lift the childrens’ spirits.  Ciel looked so thin, and unwell, and Eramun is changing shapes by the minute.”  The three looked over to see Eramun now pacing about Lizzie’s feet as a fox, and Francis sighed. 

“Very well,” said Asra, “but don’t expect to get as many sweets as last time.  We won’t be tolerating another incident like that one.”

Amista bounced on her paws, her tail wagging, and Asra gently butted his head against hers.  Francis’s hand trailed down to brush the tips of the wolfhound’s perked ears with her fingers, and Amista grinned up at her, tongue lolling out between her fangs.  Then Francis and Asra watched as the daemon bounded back to her husband’s side, and Alexis’ face lit up in a grin to match.

“We can’t allow ourselves to let our guard down,” Asra whispered, and Francis’s fingers clenched.

“I know,” she said, “There’s something going on between Ciel and his butler, and we can’t afford to miss it.  Not when it will affect _them._ ”

At her side, walking steadily, her daemon hummed in agreement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAEMONS:  
> Kamalani: rCiel’s daemon  
> Noelani: oCiel’s daemon  
> Eramun: Lizzie’s  
> Asra: Francis’  
> Eimear: Edward’s  
> Amista: Alexis’


	4. The Aristocrats of Evil (Arthur Randall and Acacia)

Lord Arthur Randall had to pause and steel himself before stepping into the dimly lit room.  At his side waited Acacia, his gray-whiskered german shepherd daemon, and the two of them swept a swift glance over the room’s occupants.  Most of the faces were familiar from his association with the previous head of the Phantomhive family, though there were a few notable exceptions; it seemed that Ciel Phantomhive had already been busy during his short time as the queen’s watchdog.

In one corner a tall oriental man lounged across an armchair, his huge python daemon draped over his shoulders and a girl draped over his lap.  As they watched, the serpent bowed her head to his ear and whispered something, her tongue flickering between her fangs, and the man smiled slightly.  Lord Randall could not see the daemon of the young woman who straddled his knees, but Acacia whispered, “It must be something small,” and he gave a slight nod.

In the back of the room, with a billiards cue stick balanced against his chair, sat the little Earl Phantomhive himself.  His daemon was perched dark and looming above him, imposing in a way that the thin-shouldered boy was not.  At his side was another new addition: the Earl’s maternal aunt, the Baroness Burnett. Her daemon sat at her feet as poised and elegant as if he was posing for a portrait.  The Siamese cat daemon flicked his thin tail around his paws, and his ears twitched as he followed the conversation between the woman and the boy. 

Lord Randall’s gaze skimmed further over the familiar figures of Chlaus, Diedrich, the photographer, and the man and woman who were conversing with bowed heads in one corner.  It settled briefly on the Undertaker, who stood to the side of the room and watched them all with an inscrutable intensity.  As he looked away, the mortician turned his head towards them, and Randall’s scowl firmed.  Acacia had never liked the man, saying that he constantly smelled of death, and some of his daemon’s discomfort had rubbed off on him. 

Finally, his gaze landed on the last new addition. Young and fair-haired, the man had a scar cutting across the bridge of his nose and brow and caught the light as he leaned over the billiard table.  His yellow and black wall lizard daemon dug her claws into his shoulder and clung to his jacket on as he made his shot.

As he was tilting his head to murmur something to Acacia, the police commissioner was jolted abruptly out of his observations as someone called his name.

"Lord Randall!"  It was the Earl's high, smooth voice that broke through the hazy silence of the room, drawing the attention of all present.

"We've been waiting for you,” he continued, “Please, come join us. This is Lau, the manager of the Shanghai trading company Kong-Rong, and Azzurro Vanel of the Ferro Company, who's proving his skill at billiards.  I'm sure you recognize my aunt, Angelina Burnett, and the others."

"I do," he said gruffly.

"Good," said the Earl, "The purpose of this gathering is simply to familiarize ourselves with our number.  I know that many of you worked with my predecessor, but for those of you who have not, please...acquaint yourselves with your colleagues.  We have some time before dinner, but refreshments will arrive shortly."  That said, the Earl settled back and turned his head to murmur something to his aunt.

Lord Randall found himself irritated; if he had his way, he would rarely ever cross paths with the Phantomhive's Aristocrats of Evil, let alone socialize with them.  At his waist, though, Acacia woofed out a laugh.

“I never thought we’d be doing this again,” she said, “after the fire destroyed everything.  It’s strange…almost eerie, being here with these people.  It’s uncomfortably familiar, and yet…”

“Yet everything has changed,” a scratchy voice interrupted from over Randall’s shoulder.  Both Lord Randall and Acacia jumped.

“Undertaker!” he exclaimed as he spun around, “I didn’t notice you come up.”  

Almost perfunctorily, the Lord and daemon scanned the Undertaker’s form in an unconscious habit formed over their association; in all the years they had known him, neither of them had ever once managed to catch a glimpse of his daemon.  They didn’t see it now, either.

The mortician chuckled, apparently oblivious.

“Looks like you’re out of practice,” he said blithely, “though if you thought that you could let your guard down now that Vincent’s no longer here, you’d be wrong.”

Lord Randall scowled at the dig, and Acacia shifted on her paws. 

“It’s more likely that you enjoy startling people, Undertaker,” said Randall, “The idea that I would ever become complacent in the home of a Phantomhive…it’s not just unbelievable, it’s….” he gritted his teeth, and the Undertaker laughed, flapping a dismissive hand.

“You should loosen up, Commissioner,” he said, “This is a party amongst friends.  No need to be so mean.” 

“He’s one to talk,” Acacia grumbled at his side, though the mortician tactfully ignored her.  Instead he turned to face the door.

“It looks like that butler is here…” he murmured, and a moment later the door was pushed open by a tall man in black carrying a tray of sandwiches and a tea set.

“I’ll talk to you later, Lord Randall,” the Undertaker said.  He tossed the words over his shoulder as he strode over to hover near the Earl and the Baroness, saying something that inspired truly comical expressions to cross their faces.  Randall scrubbed a hand over his face, and withheld a sigh with enormous effort.  His attention was drawn down as Acacia’s ears perked, and she sniffed the air.

“What is it?” he asked, and his daemon looked up at him, her dark eyes bemused.

“I don’t know.  For a moment, I thought I smelled something very strange….  I didn’t manage to place it.  But you know, Arthur, I think that I cannot wait to go home.”

He gave her a tired smile.

“I believe we both agree on that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muuurgh. Tendonitis freaking sucks. Ration your time on technology kids, the repetitive motions of typing or swiping on your phone are bad for your hands.  
> Um. Anyways. I actually finished this last night, but I was too tired to trust my proofreading ability, so here it is today. This chapter's a little more broad; I hope you don't mind the slightly different feel.
> 
> DAEMONS:  
> rCiel: Kamalani; unsettled  
> oCiel: Noelani; raven  
> Lizzie: Eramun; unsettled  
> Frances: Asra; panther  
> Edward: Eimear; serval  
> Alexis: Amista; Irish wolfhound  
> Arthur Randall: Acacia; German shepherd  
> Lau: python  
> Azzurro Vanel: wall lizard  
> Madam Red: Siamese cat


	5. The Undertaker and Asherah

Asherah didn’t remember their birth.  She didn’t remember how she came into being; whether she was born or if she formed from dust while he came bloody into this world.  But she did remember growing older, stronger, wiser by his side.  She did remember settling, large and furred with steady paws and large jaws.  She remembered round ears and a dark muzzle; she remembered how the two of them could run side by side.  She remembered thriving, she remembered lamenting, she remembered…dying.  And she remembered coming back.  She remembered coming back small and weak and fragile; the sudden, terrifying lack of heavy muscle and sharp fangs.  She remembered him cradling her in his hands as he whispered apologies over and over; she remembered him begging her for forgiveness, and how her tiny form had fluttered in his palms as she had told him, without reservation, that there was nothing to forgive.

“But,” he had said, “what I’ve done to you….”

“Shhh,” she had hummed, and her voice was still the same: soft and deep despite her new form, “It’s all right.  I’m here.  I love you, all is well.”

His voice had faltered when he forced himself to say he loved her, too.  She forgave him that as well.

 

When person died, their daemon turned to dust.  It was a truth that everyone knew.  And yet, Asherah breathed; moved; spoke; even though she _remembered_ the feeling of falling into thousands of pieces and…disappearing.  Now, tucked away as she was under heavy swaths of fabric against a warm chest with a beating heart, she could almost bring herself to forget that they had not always been this way.  Almost, but not quite; a feeling of fragility and loss hovered always at the fringes, and, though it had been slow to come, a feeling of wonder swelled at every new experience she had.  It dwelled in every sight, sound and exchange of words she witnessed. 

This feeling had started as a whisper, the first time she looked into his eyes after…after.  They were a bright, shimmering yellow-green, where before they had been a more mundane shade of forest.  It was shocking and disarming to see that it wasn’t only her that had changed, but perhaps also a relief.  The times that followed after were dreary and dismal and enthralling in turns.  Their job was a penance, but it was also a look behind the certain.  It was almost a privilege to see the supernatural, to deal in souls.

Still, even that became mundane to them as time went by.  And he had always been passionate; unwilling to settle for reenacting the same story over and over.  Although, even the new path that they’d chosen had its moments of misery; that was all too clear.

A gentle, long fingered hand drew her out of her musings and from her nest of clothing, and she was lifted up to sit eyelevel with the long silver bangs of her other half.  His gaze was piercing behind the silver strands, and his entire body seemed to be swaying with some sort of excitement.

“It seems that one of the little Phantomhives survived,” he told her, running a finger down her back, and Asherah felt her heart leap in her chest.

“Truly?” she whispered, unable to keep the awe from her voice or stop her wings from fluttering lightly.

“Yes,” he sighed, “and if you’d ever come out of my sash, you would have heard it for yourself.  He’s taken up the mantle of Earl already; the underworld’s flown into a tizzy.”

“Oh,” she said, and her powdery wings drooped to brush softly against his palm, “he became the Watchdog?”  His lips pulled tight into a frown at her question, and that was answer enough.

“We’ll go and pay him a visit, won’t we?” she asked, “Formally introduce ourselves, so he doesn’t have to start from scratch, at least?”

“Of course.”

 

The Undertaker’s carriage, long and dark and drawn by two black horses, came to a slow rattling stop in front of the Phantomhive Manor House.  For a moment, he and Asherah were struck speechless, staring up at the grand, imposing building; the last time they had been here, tending to the funeral arrangements, it had been nothing but a leaning, blackened ruin. 

“How…?” Asherah whispered, her pale, nearly translucent green wings spread wide across his shoulder, “how did it get restored so quickly?  It’s impossible.”  The Undertaker’s hands clenched on the horses’ reigns, and his eyes narrowed up at the wide entry staircase and great bay windows.

“It is impossible,” he agreed, sliding down from the driver’s seat and walking to the stairs, “When they told me that the Earl was living here, I didn’t believe it.  No human being could have done this.”

Asherah peered up at his face as she settled into his high collar.

“Whatever it is,” she said, “don’t act rashly.  And _do_ try not to frighten the boy out of his wits.”

The Undertaker chuckled as he leant forward to knock on the heavy doors.

“Me?  Frightening?” he said, “Where’d you get an idea like that?”  If she could have, Asherah would have rolled her eyes, but as it was, she just settled more comfortably against his neck and waited as the door was pulled open.

The Undertaker’s entire body went tense, and she felt his pulse begin to race at his jugular.  She peeked out of his collar, confused—and immediately shrunk back, flattening herself against his collarbone behind cloth and a curtain of hair.

It was a _demon._ A _demon_ stood in the doorway, pulling it wide, and Asherah felt cold.  The only way that one could be _here…._

“Hello,” the Undertaker called, and for all that he was tense as a bow string his posture hadn’t changed at all, “I’m here to see Earl Phantomhive, if he’s in.”

“Yes, of course,” the demon said slowly, and tilted the head of its man-shaped disguise as it ushered them in, “Wait here, please, and I’ll see if my master will receive any visitors.  May I have your name, or a card?”

“Hmmm,” the Undertaker said, “I don’t have a card, I’m afraid.  I’m the Undertaker; I worked with Vincent Phantomhive.  The Earl might remember me, we’ve met.”

“Very well,” said the demon, and turned away to stride smoothly up the stairs.

“Oh,” whispered Asherah, “the child….”

“Yes,” replied the former shinigami, “this looks... quite grim.”

It looked worse when they saw the behavior of Ciel Phantomhive’s daemon.  It looked worse when they saw the interplay between the Earl and his “butler.”  It looked worse as the boy delved deep into the underworld without reservation.  And it looked so much worse after the Undertaker went looking for answers, and found a desecrated cathedral…and along with it, a body. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Asherah asked, as the Undertaker worked late into the night, taking apart corpses and piecing them back together.  For a long time, he was silent.  Then a long, slow grin spread steadily across his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grins*  
> For some reason I was absolutely enchanted by the idea of the Undertaker, who's the strongest character in Kuroshitsuji, having a small, delicate daemon. (Asherah would never need to fight, even if the Undertaker did, anyways. He's powerful enough to make up for his fragile--damaged--soul.) >:D
> 
>  
> 
> DAEMONS:  
> rCiel: Kamalani; unsettled  
> oCiel: Noelani; raven  
> Lizzie: Eramun; unsettled  
> Frances: Asra; panther  
> Edward: Eimear; serval  
> Alexis: Amista; Irish wolfhound  
> Arthur Randall: Acacia; German shepherd  
> Lau: python  
> Azzurro Vanel: wall lizard  
> Madam Red: Siamese cat  
> Undertaker: Asherah; luna moth


End file.
